Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“He’s on some kind of black ops. Even the Red Cross can’t get a message through. We’re trying through his command, but they’ve said it might be some time.”
“Oh, that’s such a shame.” Another tsk, and finally she moved toward the living room. “Well you call if you need anything.”
Isaiah would if he could figure out what he needed. “Let’s round up the kids,” he said instead.
She herded her two young kids toward the front door with promises to check in on him tomorrow. “I’ll have our girl put together another dish for you later in the week. You let us know about the arrangements too?”
“As soon as we hear about Mark.” He scooped the baby up off the blanket he’d put on the floor for him. So much hinged on them getting word to Mark. He hadn’t wanted to have the funeral without him. Well, not that he wanted any of this thing. He didn’t want to do any of this. Shit. He really needed that five minutes now.
And from the smell of things, it was going to have to wait until after he changed a diaper.
“Of course. You call me anytime.” And with that, the woman and her noisy children were gone. They hadn’t offered to clean up the living room, which was trashed from the constant parade of preschool-aged visitors all day long.
“Who wants to help Uncle Isaiah with a diaper change?” He made himself sound cheery for Daphne and Zoe, who were already sulking over their friends leaving.
“Not me.” Daphne wandered back to the family room beyond the kitchen, no doubt in search of the TV.
“Okay. How about you Zoe-Bear?” He headed to the baby’s room, Zoe trailing behind him. “Want to get me the clean diaper?”
“Nope. Gonna go get the TV.” She stuck her tongue out at him and ran out of Liam’s room.
“Okay, but don’t fight with your sister,” he yelled after her, trying to get Liam situated on the changing table. Diapers were the worst, really, and he did it wrong again and ended up with Liam peeing on him. Complete wardrobe change for the kid, and now he was going to need to somehow squeeze a shower and clean shirt into his five minutes of quiet.
“How would you feel about an early bedtime?” he asked Liam as he tucked him into the last clean sleeper.
“No!” The baby said one of his two words, making a loud raspberry sound.
“That good, huh?” Tucking him on his hip, Isaiah headed back downstairs, which was ominously quiet.
“Girls?” he called out. “Everything okay?”
“She did it!” Daphne called out, racing toward the stairs. She was covered in flour. And glitter. It was in her curly hair, on the tips of her long, dark lashes, raining down from her slender fingers and squishing out of her Mary Jane shoes.
“Oh f—” Isaiah narrowly bit back the curse. “What happened?”
“We had a war!” Zoe came thundering out of the family room, also covered in flour, glitter, and with the added bonus of marker all over her arms and face.
“I see.” Hell. “Baths for everyone.” He was about to herd them to the downstairs bathroom, but smoky air reached his nostrils first. “F—dinner.”
He was racing toward the oven when the doorbell rang. And again. “In a minute,” he yelled because that was all his day needed. Another casserole. Maybe they’d just give up. Leave him in peace. Or chaos, as was more accurate. The baby let out a huge howl as soon as Isaiah set him down in the high chair, but he didn’t have time to comfort him. Using pot holders, he hauled the desiccated husk of the casserole out of the oven, waving away the smoke.
“What in the f—blazes is this?” The voice was one Isaiah would never forget, but he’d never heard it quite this angry.
“Mark?” He whirled, casserole still in hand, narrowly avoiding a guy who sounded like Mark. And he had keys dangling from one dusty hand, so clearly it wasn’t someone breaking in. But he’d never seen Mark like this—rumpled and dusty uniform, scruffy hair and a beard, looking about as wrecked as Isaiah had ever seen another person, eyes bloodshot and hollow, color blotchy, like he was both sunburned from exposure and pale from exhaustion.
“Yeah.” Mark’s mouth wobbled, and for a second, Isaiah worried the huge SEAL might be about to hit the floor. So he did the only thing that made sense and dumped the casserole in the sink, then all three kids still screaming, he pulled Mark to him in a tight hug. And fuck, he’d dreamed about this for years now, holding Mark, and never once had it been like this. Mark shuddered hard, but didn’t pull away. “I’m here.”
* * *
Mark let Isaiah hug him, because the alternative was to sink to the flour-covered hardwood floor and never get back up. World’s fastest packing job at the base. Five hours to Germany. Long hours waiting for the flight to the US, another sixteen hours before he reached San Diego. Cab to the base. And here. With Isaiah, kids screeching, air stinking of burned food, the house that his mother had always kept as such a showplace looking like it had been attacked by a flock of angry goats. And all of a sudden this was all so fucking real that he couldn’t deal.